


Happy Birthday, Mr. Holmes

by EventHorizon



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Birthdays, M/M, Sherlock is a Brat, pre-Mystrade
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-20
Updated: 2016-04-20
Packaged: 2018-06-03 10:19:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,394
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6607171
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/EventHorizon/pseuds/EventHorizon
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's Mycroft's birthday and it certainly cannot be described by the term 'happy' or any other word that signifies glad tidings.  Fortunately, there's one person who might be willing, and able, to change all of that...</p>
            </blockquote>





	Happy Birthday, Mr. Holmes

**Author's Note:**

  * For [NixxieFic](https://archiveofourown.org/users/NixxieFic/gifts).



> This little ditty is for [NixxieFic](http://archiveofourown.org/users/NixxieFic/pseuds/NixxieFic), who has brought such joy to so many... Stop by [their tumblr](http://nixxie-fic.tumblr.com/) and give them a big hello!

Dismal.  Chilly.  The extra hour of sleep he had scheduled for himself snatched away by the ringing of his mobile… really, there was no surprise here.

      “Yes?”

      “I am imprisoned.”

The surprise factor remained at nil.

      “Need I ask the reason, Sherlock, or might I assume you have done something either ridiculous or dangerous, even by Detective Inspector Lestrade’s generous standards, and he took pains to protect the public from your immaturity?”

      “He has already phoned you.”

There was comfort in predictability, at the very least.

      “No, however, it did not require a bounty of mental calculations to tease the most likely situation from the legion of options that presented themselves.”

      “I require collecting.”

      “Is it not fortunate, then, that you have a collector waiting for you at your flat?  Do pass along my greetings to Doctor Watson.”

      “No.  John has refused, in the most scurrilous manner, to, as he phrased it ‘leave my warm bed to drag your bastardy self out of your much-deserved cell.’  He is a traitor of the highest order and we will have words on the subject once you have me released so the words may be had.”

      “Inform the Detective Inspector that I authorize him to release you on your own recognizance and take responsibility for whatever outcome may arise due to my lack of good judgement.”

Mycroft waited while Sherlock conferred with someone slightly out of the range of the phone’s reception and wondered if there was any chance he could salvage a few more minutes in bed to eke out even the smallest indulgence for himself on this particular day.

      “Lestrade wants to know the depth of your bank accounts.”

Oh dear god.

      “Why are you in custody, Sherlock?”

      “It is not my fault that the drooling dullwits in the police service cannot tell the difference between a live explosive device and one that is… not.”

      “Why on Earth… no.  An explanation is quite unnecessary for it undoubtedly shall reduce to a cripplingly familiar theme that seems to haunt my life much as a personal musical score.  I shall arrive shortly, so do take pains not to add to your charge sheet and nullify even my influence on the condition of your freedom.”

Without waiting for Sherlock’s infantile reply, Mycroft terminated the call and released a deep, frustrated breath.  Just _one_ day to enjoy the slightest degree of ease… was it too much to ask?  Apparently it was, as it had been every year of his life since Sherlock was born…

__________

      “Sorry about this, sir, but Sherlock’s being more troublesome than usual and I’d rather not have that spill over into a real altercation with any of the lads, especially when he’s playing with toy bombs.”

      “It was not a toy!  It was a prototype of the explosive device I believe was used for the Durham case.”

      “We closed that case already, Sherlock!”

      “Closing a case and correctly solving it are two entirely different things, Lestrade.”

The look on Lestrade’s face was one Mycroft instantly recognized for he had felt his own features configure in that particular fashion more times than was humanly countable.

      “I do see the root of your concern, Detective Inspector, and find no fault in your decision to see Sherlock properly escorted home.  Thank you for not processing the matter further through the system.”

      “Given what happened last time Sherlock was in the docket, I view this as doing a public service.”

Yes, that was a situation only described through the use of words not suitable for the faint of heart.

      “A stellar nod to societal order.  Sherlock, if you will come with me, I shall see you home and manacled to the plumbing so we do not see further mischief perpetrated today.  Thank you, Detective Inspector.  Do enjoy the remainder of your day.”

Feeling particularly paternal at the moment, Mycroft grabbed Sherlock by the ear and tugged him along, very much enjoying the soundtrack provided by both Sherlock’s incessant complaining and Lestrade’s amused laughter.  With this foolishness tended to, perhaps he could expect the remainder of the day to show a kinder face to the person who had survived another year on this accursed planet and asked for nothing more than the smallest quantity of peace and quiet in celebration…

__________

Shouting voices did not qualify as peace and quiet.

      “If you leave now, Mr. Holmes, I can easily say you died and pretend extreme surprise when you resurrect tomorrow morning.”

      “Thank you, Anthea, but… there was no meeting scheduled for this particular time.”

      “No, and I informed the individuals screeching in your meeting room of that very thing, but their hysterical tantrum isn’t allowing things such as fact to stand tall and be counted at present.”

      “The reason for their high-volume discontent?”

      “No idea.  I don’t think they know either, rather like my nephew when he begins squalling, crying and shaking.  Admittedly, he’s four months old, but that’s never stopped political types, at least, not that I’ve noticed.”

      “Delightful.  And lamentably true.  Very well, child management _is_ a skill placed most highly on my resume… do take my valise and bring a cup of the tea I keep in the left-hand drawer of my desk at your first opportunity.”

      “The special tea?  The Huns are at the gate tea?  The Sherlock has finally cloned himself, god help us all tea?”

      “The very same.”

      “It is wrong that I don’t feel at all sorry for those poor bastards in there?”

      “No, though if you wish to cleanse your conscience, you might add a biscuit or two to my tea request.”

      “From behind the false back of the bottom cabinet of the break room?”

      “Consider yourself absolved of all sins for the remainder of the day.”

My, what a happy jig that was.  At least someone’s day was a pleasant one, even if that person wasn’t him.  However, a jubilant PA was far more efficient than a perturbed PA, so it reasonably could be said he benefited secondhand.  It was a small victory, but, at this point, size certainly didn’t matter when triumph was at hand…

__________

      “No spicy beef?”

      “Prawns, Mr. Holmes.”

      “I am not fond of their prawns.”

      “I know that, sir, and I used my most scornful tone when I informed them of the incorrect delivery.”

      “It is small comfort, Anthea, but something is better than nothing.”

      “The prawns are also better than nothing, sir.”

      “By the slimmest of margins.  I had hoped, at least, to enjoy my favorite lunch after the turbulence of the day so far.”

      “Emergency rations?”

      “What have we in that regard?”

      “There is cold pizza and… that might be the extent of it.”

      “From Frangioni’s?”

      “That much grace I can award you, Mr. Holmes.”

      “Very well, but I desire a diet soda with my slices.”

      “We’re out of diet.”

      “Your grace is withering, Anthea.”

      “We may have gelato…”

      “Chocolate?”

      “Raspberry.”

      “I am in hell.”

      “At least it’s a warm day, because I meant to tell you that your coat was lost at the cleaners.”

      “Of course it was.”

      “Time for whisky?”

      “Time for several.”

__________

      “For how long now?”

      “A good hour.”

      “I am most disappointed, John.”

      “Look, I’m not his keeper.  Sherlock slipped his leash and there was nothing I could do about it.”

      “Are you paralyzed?  Were you not trained in the military to bring an opponent to the ground?”

      “I’m not wrestling your brother just because he’s being a prat.  I’d be doing that every day!”

      “A service for which I would gladly award you a tidy stipend.”

      “No.  He’s got a bone between his teeth and he’s not stopping, apparently, until he’s gnawed it to death.”

      “Have you alerted Detective Inspector Lestrade?”

      “Yes, just before I phoned you.  Now, with all of Sherlock’s minders duly informed, I’m off to enjoy this lovely bit of quiet time alone in the flat.  My, how enjoyable a day can be when Sherlock’s making other people insane and leaving me with a good book and fresh milk for the tea.”

      “Your lack of cooperation will be remembered, Doctor Watson.”

      “Get a tranquilizer gun and put a dart right in his arse.  Problem solved.”

      “I am not entirely certain his arse is composed of anything beyond bone, so a dart would be sadly ineffective.”

      “It’s not.  There’s some good stuff there, too.  Trust me.”

      “I believe that is termed ‘over sharing,’ John.”

      “Don’t say I never gave you anything.”

__________

      “If you would only approve my request, sir, this would no longer be a problem.”

      “I cannot approve a personal helicopter simply because London traffic is a hellacious bother.”

      “You _could_ approve it, but you’re saving your budget for new furnishings for your office.”

      “Untrue.  I am most satisfied with things as they are.”

      “You called your chair a violator of your posterior.”

      “I was being colorful.”

      “And the pattern of your rug you said was no different than if a child vomited on a floor after consuming a meal of mutton stew and Brussels sprouts.”

      “I believe you are mistaken.”

      “Shall I mention the drapes?  Really, is that necessary?”

      “They are abominable.  It cannot be denied.  However, they shall remain on their rods just as we shall remain in this specific spot until the end of days.”

      “We wouldn’t be if we had a helicopter.”

      “Your circular reasoning is most impressive.”

      “I’ll put that in my performance evaluation.”

      “And I shall sign it, as usual.”

      “Along with the helicopter request.”

      “Someone save me…”

__________

Salvation was not on offer today, it seemed…

      “I truly, truly am sorry, Mr. Holmes…”

      “It is quite alright, Detective Inspector.  I cannot say I am in the least surprised this is what the setting sun brings to my day.”

Sherlock coated in what appeared to be black powder residue, being flanked by large police constables could only be described as utterly expected and appropriate for this moment in time.

      “It was only a small shed he destroyed, but the owner is, as you might expect, rather volcanic about it.”

      “It was not marked!  There was no statement of ownership!”

      “Oh, so sheds simply appear like magic in London nowadays?  That’s new to me, lad.  How about you keep very quiet so I don’t turn a blind eye when the gentlemen next to you decide to give you a thump.”

      “That is police brutality, Lestrade.”

      “That’s police parlour games, Sherlock.”

      “Dear me, he _is_ in a mood today, is he not?”

      “That he is, Mr. Holmes.  I already told off John for being useless and letting him race around London like a puppy after a ball.  Which happened to be a _bomb_ , but his little puppy brain didn’t seem to think that was an issue.”

Sherlock’s hotly-worded rebuttal and Mycroft’s long-suffering groan blended into a rather disturbing symphony that Lestrade simply let continue until both brothers seemed to run out of air.

      “Your opinion on the likelihood of a monetary solution to this dilemma, Detective Inspector?”

      “High, I suspect.  About as high as the size of the cheque you’ll have to write to make this go away, though.”

      “Naturally.”

      “The insurance value of that collection of sticks and rusted nails cannot exceed that of a discarded pencil!”

      “Sherlock… I have no idea what notion has overtaken you, nor can I muster any surprise that you chose today, of _all possible days_ , to see me enmeshed in your mania, but if you would do me and the Detective Inspector the courtesy of remaining absolutely silent while I, yet again, clean up your mess, I, for one, would be most appreciative!”

Lestrade blinked in shock at the forceful tone in Mycroft’s voice, but also for Sherlock’s widening eyes, which preceded the rarest of all sightings - a flicker of contrition on the detective’s face.

      “Excellent.  If you would provide me with the contact information for the owner of this property, Detective Inspector, I shall see the situation resolved so your further involvement shall not be necessary.”

      “I… alright.  That sounds good.  How about I take the criminal home so you don’t have to suffer through that, as well.”

It might be the tiniest of things, but Mycroft felt as if someone had lifted a crushing weight off of his shoulders.

      “I would be eternally grateful.”

      “Then we’re off!  Sherlock, in the car.  Lads, see he gets in the car whether he wants to or not.  If you need anything, Mr. Holmes, don’t hesitate to phone.”

Would it be out of bounds to ask for a holiday on a desert island?  Or, at minimum, a large glass of something with a near-lethal potency?  Spicy beef?

      “I shall, Detective Inspector.  Do enjoy your ride.”

With one last, and covert, appraisal of the elder Holmes, now taking out his mobile to make use of the small card of information Lestrade had given him, the Detective Inspector turned towards the waiting police car, complete with prisoner pressing his face to the window, and let his police instincts run wild for a moment.  Baker Street wasn’t the longest drive from their present location, but a more leisurely cruise through London might be in order today.  Being in close quarters with an informant was a very good way of extracting the highest quality of information and that certainly seemed to be something he needed going forward…

__________

Mycroft looked out over London from the window of his office and experienced a very uncharacteristic twinge of melancholy at the dying of the day.  It was a silly thing, really, but… was it too selfish or childish to wish for _one_ day where the burdens of life were less than for others?  Where a scant few indulgences might be granted?  It made the eternal vigilance and toil for the good of the free world seem a tad… unrewarding, if there was never, not a single time, a boon for the person keeping that free world as safe in its bed as possible.

      “Mr. Holmes?”

And the lack of boon continues…

      “Yes, Anthea?”

      “Someone to see you, sir.”

      “I… I have no appointments at this hour.”

      “True, but there’s still someone here to see you.”

      “Pencil them in for the morning.”

      “No.”

      “Pardon?”

      “This is important.”

As ever it was.

      “The fact that their arrival was not heralded by a flurry of phone calls or the interruption of the evening’s television programming by emergency alerts sets the importance level as something that can be handled in the morning.”

      “No.”

      “That is most obstinate of you.”

      “I’m only looking out for you, sir.  Now, do I have official permission to let the gentleman in or do I have to engage in subversive acts.”

      “Is this going to involve my daily chocolate truffle as with your last example of wholesale rebellion.”

      “I only asked for one extra hour for my lunch break.”

      “To purchase a handbag!”

      “It was on sale!”

      “Is… is everything alright in here?”

Mycroft’s mouth fell at the familiar voice and Anthea heaped mental praise on Lestrade for not tolerating her boss’s foolishness and taking charge.  Mr. Holmes needed a take-charge sort of man and, if her suspicions were correct, would greatly enjoy one behind closed doors, too.

      “D… Detective Inspector?  To what do I owe… is something wrong?”

While Anthea alternately made ‘get in here now’ motions and hustled herself out the door, Lestrade walked into the large office and tried not to let the sense of power change his mind about his intentions.

      “No, or, at least, not with me.  Sherlock’s fine, too.  Told John that if His Surliness escaped again tonight, there would be people handling the situation who _weren’t_ me and that would _not_ go well for either of them.”

      “That is good to know, however…”

Mycroft’s quizzical look set Lestrade’s jaw and firmed his resolve not to make a mess of things.

      “While I was getting Sherlock back to Baker Street, we had a little chat and… Happy Birthday, Mr. Holmes.”

Reaching into his pocket, Lestrade pulled out an envelope and handed it to Mycroft, who took it as carefully as if he was being handed a cobra.

      “Th… thank you?”

      “You’re welcome!  Now, why don’t you open it so you know what it is you’re thanking me for.”

Slowly lifting the flap, Mycroft found his befuddlement unchanged as he drew out a selection of menus.

      “It’s too late for anything like a nice restaurant because of reservations and whatnot, but those are some of my favorites for excellent food and quick seating.  And, they’re near a selection of very respectable pubs for a drink or two after dinner.”

Watching Mycroft stand stock still except for some very erratic blinking, Lestrade could only hope his life’s supply of nervousness wasn’t screaming its existence all over his face.

      “You… me…”

      “I know what it’s like to spend your birthday working and, on top of it all, having what seems like the entire city rioting as the icing on your lack of cake.  So, if you’re willing, I’d like to treat you to dinner and a few glasses of something pleasant.  If… if you have the time and aren’t too tired, that is.”

It still took Mycroft several moments to process the information and decide what he wanted to do with it.  The Detective Inspector was asking him out for a birthday dinner.  Dinner and drinks, actually.  And had shaved!  The man had used a razor, likely electric and kept in his desk drawer, but he _had_ used it to freshen his appearance for their evening.  That… was interesting.

      “I… yeah, ok, I thought it was a very long shot anyway, so I’ll…”

Must remember to answer questions verbally for among the laudable collection of Gregory’s assets is not to be found that of mind reading.

      “I would be happy to accompany you, Detective Inspector.  In fact, I am most delighted by the invitation.”

Especially when your eyes light up with a vibrancy that rivals that of your smile.  Which I will not admit to have previously noticed for I am a mature man who is far beyond the age of smile-noticing.

      “Great!  Really, that’s fantastic.  Need to finish anything or…”

Taking the small stack of folders from his desk and dropping them in the Inbox designated for his PA’s attention, Mycroft then picked up his umbrella and valise before smiling and nodding sharply.

      “I am finished for the day and ready to depart.”

      “Alright, then.  After you…”

Feeling still somewhat overwhelmed that someone, especially this someone, remembered his birthday and, further, took pains to see it celebrated, Mycroft started to walk out of his office and it was only by chance that he happened to catch a glimpse of himself and Lestrade in the mirror that hung on the far wall, feeling his eyes widen at the sight of the Detective Inspector very obviously taking notice of his… bottom.  Appreciative notice, at that.  That… was even more interesting.  Highly interesting.  The taken-from-a-multitude-of-daydreams sort of interesting.  Which, combined with the critical freshly-shaved fact, made for a picture that was… pleasing.  Very pleasing, actually.  The type of pleasing that factored into a vast selection of fantasies that accompanied him to sleep with a somewhat embarrassing frequency.

      “I hope you don’t mind taking a cab, sir, because I don’t actually own a car myself.”

      “Of course not.  And… please call me Mycroft.  I feel such a thing is long overdue in any case.”

Particularly given the increased luster of your already-mentioned vibrant smile.

      “I’d like that.  And call me Greg.”

      “Gregory, I believe.”

      “That’s what my mum calls me.”

      “A woman of excellent taste.”

      “She’d agree with you, too.”

Anthea remained at her desk and pointedly didn’t punch the air at the sound of male laughter trailing out of the office area.  If her boss was already laughing, the outlook for the evening was extremely good.  Good enough, in fact, to ignore the stack of folders he most certainly dropped in her Inbox and consider the evening done.  With any luck, it wouldn’t be many more days before there would be another done evening.  And then another and so forth and so on.  It was about time those two finally did something about the furtive glances and sad, pining sighs.  Most definitely Happy Birthday, Mr. Holmes… and may the rest be just as happy, and lucky, as this one… 


End file.
